


Derrick and Bole Are Dead

by rillalicious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 05:45:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillalicious/pseuds/rillalicious
Summary: "We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered."-Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead





	Derrick and Bole Are Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Slashfoxes, I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it! I was absolutely inspired by your prompt and I hope I did one of your favorite works justice!

_"But then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way onto the pitch without signposts."_  
Angelina Johnson, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Lucian Bole thought the journey might not have been so insufferable if Derrick's bloody galleon hadn't kept coming up heads. 

"Would you put that thing away?" said Lucian. "Any wizard who comes upon us might think we have money or that we're unwise. Or worse, both." 

"Why would they think we're unwise?" said Derrick. The coin landed on his forearm again. "Heads." 

"Our lives are ephemeral, Perry," said Lucian. "Dust in the wind. If we have a single galleon, what do we have but a galleon?" 

Peregrine Derrick frowned. "A… galleon," he said. "Is this a trick question, Luke? Heads."

"The trick of it lies in seventy-eight heads in a row, doesn't it?" said Luke. 

"Seventy-nine," said Perry.

"You would have me believe that's your seventy-ninth head in a row?"

"Eighty. Where are we going?" 

"Where we haven't been." 

"But why?" 

"Because… Because we are headed in that direction."

"Ah, but we could be headed in another direction just the same. And then we would be going there, not _there_." 

Luke thought for a long moment. "This morning. There was a messenger. We were sent for. Summoned. Summoned to Malfoy Manor." He straightened his shoulders, feeling triumphant. "By Narcissa herself." 

"By Narcissa herself," said Perry. "We must be very important people. Eighty-one." 

"Very important people in a very propitious time."

"What does that mean?"

"It means… It means… I'm not sure."

"Eighty-four." 

"We're here." 

~*~*~

The manor was very much the same as the last time Luke had seen it, or at least he assumed it was. He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd seen it. When the door opened, for a moment Luke was sure he was standing in front of a sheer white peacock, but a moment later, it was a woman in a white coat with a fur-lined hood. 

"Ninety-nine," said Perry.

"State your business," said the woman.

"We've been sent for," said Luke.

"Prove it," said the woman.

"By Narcissa herself," said Luke.

"That's not proof," said the woman.

"Heads would be proof," said Perry.

"Not now," said Lucian, but Perry was insistent. 

"Heads would be proof," he said.

"Tell me more," said the woman. 

"Ninety-nine heads in a row," said Perry.

"That could be proof."

"If it were one hundred," said Perry.

"Yes," said the woman.

"We've been sent for," Luke insisted again.

Perry flipped the coin again, and this time it clattered to the marble steps. Luke covered it with his boot. 

"One hundred," said Perry.

"One hundred," said Luke. 

"Fair enough," said the woman. "That's impressive." 

"It defies the law of averages," said Luke.

"And physics," said Perry. He cleared his throat. "We are Derrick and Bole, miss. We've been sent for by Narcissa Malfoy herself." 

"So have we," said the woman. 

"Who are 'we'?" asked Luke.

"You're Derrick and Bole," said the woman, "if your mouths are to be believed. And I know better than to believe unknown mouths. I am, after all, a tragedian." 

"A what?" asked Perry.

"A tragedian!" she said, raising a hand triumphantly in the air. "A theatre person! We've been sent for by the Malfoys." 

"Brilliant," said Luke. He turned to Perry. "They have a purpose. We must have a purpose, too." He clapped his hands together triumphantly.

"Your purpose," the voice was loud and quite regal and echoed down the halls to the sharp clacking of Narcissa Malfoy's pointed shoes, "is to deal with my son."

"Our son," said Lucius, close on her heels. 

"Draco," said Narcissa, and she came to a stop behind the tragedian, smiling a wickedly calculated smile. "He's in a terrible state. I'm afraid he's lost his sense of reality." 

"He's lost quite a bit more than that," said Lucius, and he huffed. 

"Tell us," said Luke, as he stepped inside the manor. "Tell us what's wrong. We can help."

"Of course you can help," said Narcissa. "That's why we've called you."

"We were called for," said Perry. 

"Enough of this," Lucius said shortly. "Draco is out of his mind with lust and worry and needs a distraction. Ergo, we have called you clowns to distract him."

"Clowns?" Luke said to the woman in white. "I thought you were tragedians."

"Not us," said the woman, "you."

"We're the clowns?" said Perry.

"In a manner of speaking," said Narcissa. She smiled indulgently. Luke knew that smile. It was the portent of something wicked to come. "We need you to inspire such a joy in my son that he'll forget all about Potter and his lovesick heart." 

"I'm sorry, Potter?" said Luke. " _Harry_ Potter? _The_ Harry Potter?"

Lucius cleared his throat. "The same," he said flatly.

"Draco loves Potter?" said Perry.

"Love is such a strong word," said Narcissa. "The boy is confused." 

"He's thirty-two," said Luke. "Not a boy." 

"Where exactly does adulthood begin?" said Perry.

"Dust in the wind," said Luke.

"We live in a time of extended childhood," said Perry. "The surge of Muggle technology making magic less and less necessary and an uncertain global economy lead to an extended dependence on one's parents. It's all very tragic."

"That's my domain," said the woman in white. "Tragedy." 

"As it is," said Narcissa, "and shouldn't you get to it? If there's to be a show tomorrow, I expect you to be well prepared."

"Right," said the woman in white, and then she was sweeping down the hallway, her white cloak snapping behind her. 

"Professor Snape in a snowstorm," said Perry. 

"About my son," said Narcissa. "I've called you here to tend to him. I suggest you see to it." 

And then, without further notice, Derrick and Bole were alone in the foyer.

~*~*~

Draco was pining in the garden when they found him. He sat on a round bench encircling a fountain facing the path from which Derrick and Bole had entered the garden.

"Draco!" Luke said jovially. "It's been a long time." 

Draco looked at them and sighed, then turned away. 

"Do you suppose he does not see us?" said Perry. "Have we become invisible?" 

"Of course not," said Luke. "Don't be absurd." 

"Harder than it looks," muttered Perry. 

Luke skittered around to the other side of the fountain. 

"There you are," he said. "Draco. Your mother sent for us." 

"Of course she did," said Draco. "She sent for the actors, too."

"Tragedians," corrected Perry. 

"They don't know tragedy," said Draco.

"But you do," said Luke. 

"I do," said Draco. "Welcome to Azkaban, I suppose." 

"But we're not in Azkaban," said Perry. "We're here. At your home." 

"Are we, though?" said Draco. 

Perry looked around in confusion. "Maybe?" 

"Most certainly," said Luke. 

"It might as well be Azkaban," said Draco. "Azkaban resplendent with dementors and all the rest of the terrible guard."

"Are they… holding you prisoner here?" asked Luke. 

"Not exactly," said Draco. "Though they've announced I have to meet my betrothed here tomorrow afternoon." 

"Your betrothed?" asked Perry. 

"The Greengrass woman. The younger witch," said Draco despondently. 

"She _is_ lovely," said Perry.

"His affections do not that way tend," said Luke.

"She is lovely," Draco echoed, the words dull. Then he was on his feet. "Come here. Give me your hands." They reached out with hesitation and Draco took their hands fiercely. "I know precisely why my mother's called you here," he said. "She thinks I've either lost my mind or I'm hexed. As if a hex would split my heart down the middle." 

"Draco," said Luke, his fingers aching beneath Draco's grip. "You don't sound like yourself. Perhaps you're not well." 

Draco raised their hands in the air. "That's what they want you to think!" 

"Who are 'they'?" asked Perry. 

"The Malfoys," said Draco.

"Of which you are one," said Luke.

"I am nothing but a prisoner in this place," Draco said, and he dropped their hands, flipping a lock of blond hair away from his face and stepping up onto the fountain bench. "This manor is the definition of a gilded cage. Do you remember--do you _remember_ , my dear friends, that once it was a prison wardened by the Dark Lord himself? This is no better. No better than when a werewolf reigned terror on the manor."

"This time the terror is in your heart," said Luke.

Draco shook his head. "Not terror. Despair." 

"But he's engaged to the lovely witch," said Perry.

"The lovely witch to which he does not wish to be engaged," said Luke. "To be denied the opportunity to love that which one truly loves is to be denied one's humanity."

Draco looked down at Luke, his head cocked to the side. "You understand me," he said, and he jumped down from the bench, reaching into his jacket's breast pocket. "Here, take this." 

He produced a small, square envelope. "Deliver it to the address on the label. Do it yourselves. No owls. I want to know with certainty that it arrives. Tonight, post haste. The morning will be too late." With a flourish, Draco gave them a small bow, then spun on his heel. "Goodnight, gentlemen. Sleep well. Welcome to Malfoy Manor."

~*~*~

Derrick and Bole stood outside the tall building, staring up at the rows and rows of windows stacked atop one another. 

"Is this it?" said Perry.

"The envelope says so," said Luke. "Shall we knock?" 

"And ask for who?"

"Whom."

"That's a funny thing to ask for."

"No," said Luke. "We ask for _whom_. You use whom when you would use him. We are seeking him. You wouldn't say, 'ask for he', would you?" 

"What about she? What if we're seeking she?" 

"Whom would be her." 

"And they?" 

"Them. All whom." 

"I see," said Perry, and after a moment rubbing the back of his head, he added, "No, I don't." 

Luke was already moving up the steps. He stretched out his hand to ring the bell only to see a small square space with the words "press here" printed in red lettering. He held up the envelope Draco had given him, closed one eye, and watched as the shapes aligned. 

"Huh," he said, and he pressed the envelope to the space. The edge around it started to glow and the iron gate in front of the door vanished. The envelope faded beneath Luke's fingers until it was gone. 

"Curious," said Perry, and he raised his hand to knock.

"Draco!" The door was flung open and Luke jumped down a step in surprise. 

"We're not Draco," said Perry. 

"Oh." The figure silhouetted by light from within the entryway slumped in the doorway. 

"But we bring a message from him," said Luke. "Well, we did. The house ate it. I put it there." He pointed to the empty square. "And then it wasn't."

"I see. But Draco sent you?" 

Luke squinted into the light. He knew those tufts of hair standing at haphazard attention like a spiky halo. 

"He did. He sent us to Harry Potter. With the message, the one that's gone now." 

"It's not gone," said Potter. "It's right here." He held up the envelope, then he began to open it. "Draco trusts you enough to send you. Derrick and Bole, right? You played Quidditch. Better than Crabbe and Goyle, but meaner."

"We're new men," said Luke. "Reimagined." 

"Re-engineered," said Perry.

"Rediscovered," said Luke.

"Fascinating," said Potter. "Now shut it, would you? I'm trying to read." He looked up suddenly, with a smile they could see even in the shadows. "Brilliant. Tell him I'll be there."

Before they could answer, the door slammed shut, and the iron gate vanished.

"He'll be there," said Luke, looking at Perry as they turned and trotted down the stairs side by side.

"Be where?"

"Apparently we didn't have the need to know," said Luke. "Now we have a new message to deliver."

"Do you think we'll remember?" said Perry. "By the time we reach the manor? I'm quite worried we won't remember."

"We don't remember a lot of things, it's true," said Luke, reaching for their brooms. "but this would be hard to forget, don't you think?" He handed a broom to Perry.

"What would? See! I've already forgotten."

"I haven't. How do you forget that Draco is in love with The Chosen One?"

"Are we still supposed to call him that?"

"Well, he wasn't _un_ -chosen, was he?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Then he's still The Chosen One," said Luke. "And Draco loves him. Love has a permanence to it. It doesn't disappear as quickly as the rest. Oh, the details do, of course, but the imprints of it are stored not on our hearts, but in our bones."

"But love doesn't last," said Perry. "Won't our bones get full?" 

"Impossible." Luke mounted his broom. "Draco's in love. It's not our bones bearing the burden. Come, we're charged with a very important mission. Let us deliver the message and see what we can do to stay in Narcissa's good graces."

"Oh dear," muttered Perry as they took flight, "this is getting very complicated."

~*~*~

The next morning, as the tragedians prepared for the play, Narcissa found Derrick and Bole in the kitchen. 

"My son was smiling this morning," she said as she breezed through. " _Smiling_. Was that the doing of the two of you?" 

"Yes," said Luke quickly, then upon remembering exactly what had brought Draco such cheer, he splashed hot tea on his shaking hand. "Er, perhaps."

"Of course it was us," said Perry, around a mouthful of something he'd just picked up off the platter in front of him. "We're the ones who brought him--Ow!" He scowled at Luke, reaching beneath the table with one hand to cover his bruised knee. 

Luke lowered his foot beneath the table and cleared his throat. "What my dearest friend in the world is trying to say is that we're the ones who brought Draco around. It was us. Our cheerful disposition." 

"Hmmm," Narcissa said.

"Good morning, mother," Draco entered the kitchen with bouncing steps, reaching around her to grab an orange from a bowl on the counter. He sat at the head of the table, between Luke and Perry, and began to peel it. "Good morning, friends. Beautiful day, isn't it?" 

"I can't find a single one of my--" Lucius Malfoy stopped short in the kitchen door, staring with panicked eyes at his son. 

"Good morning, father," said Draco. "Orange slice?" 

Lucius sidestepped toward Narcissa. "What have they done to him?" he whispered from the corner of his mouth. 

"They've. Fixed. Him," Narcissa said tightly.

"Can I take my tea to go?" Draco said, rising to his feet. "I've a million errands to run before the play." When Narcissa returned no answer, he drew his wand and with a few flicks of his wrist, his cup was transformed to a thermos. "Looking forward to it, by the way, mother. See you all later."

Luke looked at the pile of orange peels left behind, then at Perry. 

"Curious," said Lucius finally, his voice sharp, "that he would have such a drastic change in disposition quite literally overnight." 

"Very curious," said Narcissa. "You lot haven't… Obliviated him of Potter, have you?" 

"Of course not," said Luke. "We'd never do that to a friend. Draco's our friend. He said so himself. You heard him." 

"Besides," said Perry, "it wouldn't work. Love stays in the bones. Isn't that right, Luke?" 

"Indeed it is." 

"What did you do to my son?" Narcissa's eyes were narrow now, like a snake's. 

"We simply elevated his mood," said Luke. "With happy thoughts." It wasn't a lie, not outright.

"Happy thoughts," Narcissa said. Her lips were pressed in a thin line across her face. "I see." Her heel screeched along the tile as she turned to the doorway, and a moment later, she was striding away.

Lucius was still glaring at them. "Mark my words," he said. "If you've done anything to the boy that will upset my wife, there will be hell to pay." With swift steps, he followed her down the hall. 

"I've never understood that phrase," said Perry. "Hell collects souls, does it not? Not currency."

"The souls are the currency," said Luke. "Perhaps it was a threat on our very souls."

"Do you think he means to kill us, then? When Potter shows up? Have we made a terrible mistake?"

"We were called here to tend to Draco," Luke said, "and tend we did. We carried out his wishes. We delivered the messages. They don't shoot the messengers." 

"Sometimes they do," Perry said. "He Who Must Not Be Named did. All the time. Most of his messengers are dead." 

"That's not untrue," Luke said. "But listen to this. We are a messenger of an entirely different sort. We bring tidings of love and joy. We're practically angels."

"Changed men."

"Exactly. And men who change for the better don't get punished for it."

"Don't they, though?"

Luke paused to consider that, but a loud clap from the doorway snatched his attention. 

"Ahem," said the woman in blue (it was blue today, not white). "I am looking for men with strong backs to carry heavy materials from our carriage to the stage room." 

"The stage room?" said Perry.

"Ballroom," said Luke. 

" _Stage_ room," said the woman in blue, "for now it contains a stage."

"All the world's a stage," said Perry. 

"Are you going to help me or not?" said the woman in blue. 

"Of course," said Luke, and he rose to his feet. "Perry, let us make ourselves useful."

~*~*~

Derrick and Bole stood at attention on either side of the ballroom aisle, handing programs for the play to every person who entered. 

"Do I look alright?" It was Draco standing there beside Luke suddenly, tucking hair behind his ear with two fingers, then untucking it again. "Is my tie straight?" 

"It appears to be," said Luke. "That's how you want it. Isn't it?"

Draco sighed and looked at the stream of people entering the ballroom. "Here she comes," he said.

"Draco." Narcissa smiled as she presented the young woman on her arm. "Doesn't Astoria look lovely?"

"And here we go," Draco whispered in Luke's ear, but before Luke could ask for clarification, he'd stepped away. 

"She does," Draco said, and he winked at Luke. "But I'm afraid she'll have to sit with you and father this afternoon. I've brought a date." 

"Draco, Astoria _is_ your date," said Narcissa. 

"She's your date," said Draco. "Erm, no offense, Astoria. You're quite lovely. For a woman. I believe you'll make a man who likes women quite happy someday. Or a woman who likes women. Any person, really. I'm not here to judge. But you can't be my date. I have a date. And he's not you." 

The young woman looked at Draco for a long time, her pink cheeks set in colorful contrast to her pale complexion. Her eyes were big and round and watery and for a moment Luke was afraid she might cry. But then she smiled. 

"Am I free to go, then?" she said, looking to Narcissa as she let go of the older woman's arm. "I don't have to stay for this thing?"

"This _thing_ ," Narcissa said tartly, "is a play we've arranged for the amusement of our son and his fiancee. My dear, that's you."

"But clearly it's not," said Astoria. "It's obvious he doesn't want to marry me, and now it's even more obvious that he's gay. I understand that you stodgy old purebloods are obsessed with grandbabies, but perhaps you should have had more than one child yourselves in that case." Her voice was rising with her temper in time with the amused smile lighting Draco's lips. 

"What will you tell your mother?" said Narcissa.

"That I refuse to marry a man who doesn't love me. That I'm moving to the United States to pursue my _own_ dreams. New York, as a matter of fact. I'm moving to New York." 

"That's wonderful," said Draco.

Astoria was glowing with joy. "It is, isn't it? I've only just now decided! But yes, I'm moving to New York. On Thursday. I'll go on Thursday. Ha! Yes! New York!" She lifted her skirt and ran down the aisle, laughing in near hysteria. 

"That girl's gone mad!" Lucius stepped up beside them. "Draco, what have you done to her?"

"I've set her free," Draco said. 

"They've broken up," said Narcissa. "Your son is incorrigible."

"Narcissa!" Lucius called after her as she swept down the aisle after Astoria. He turned back to wag a finger first at Luke and then at Perry. "Dead men. Mark my words. Both of you. Dead men." 

"Do you think he really means to kill us?" said Perry. 

"Who cares?" said Draco, and he clapped them each on a shoulder. "It's a beautiful day." 

"Hello." The voice from behind was recognizable at once and Luke turned around to see Harry Potter clearing his throat. "Hello, Draco. Derrick. Bole." 

"Hello," murmured Perry in time with Luke.

"Harry. You're here." Draco turned around to face him. "I have wonderful news. The engagement is off."

One corner of Potter's mouth quirked. "So it's official, then? This is a date?" 

Draco offered his arm. "I'm quite sure it is." 

They walked down the aisle together, to the whispers and stares of the crowd, and Derrick and Bole shuffled to the very back of the room, pressing themselves flat against the wall in the shadows as the house lights came down and the stage lit up.

Draco and Potter took a seat in the front row. By the way they kept glancing between them, Luke knew they were holding hands. 

"Luke, do you believe we're dead men?" 

"At the moment, no. But Lucius Malfoy following through on a threat has always been a fifty-fifty prospect." Luke thought on that for a moment. "No, forty-sixty at best." 

"Shall I flip the coin to see? Heads we live. Tails we die."

"But it's always heads," said Luke.

"Two-hundred and forty-seven times," said Perry.

"So it's unlikely to be an accurate omen of our doom."

"On the other hand, it might be the thing that saves us." 

"What do you mean?"

A woman in the last row turned around and glared at them, coughing loudly into her hand. The actors on stage had begun to speak.

"What do you mean?" Luke said again, this time in a whisper. 

"What if it's not that the coin predicts that which is already set in stone, but that the coin is what carves that stone itself?" Perry said.

"The coin controls our destiny. That's brilliant. That's the key. The coin is the key."

"The coin is a coin. Do we also need a key?"

"No," Luke said in exasperation. There was another _shush_ from the audience and he grabbed Perry's arm, pulling him along as he edged toward the back corner of the ballroom. "We only need the coin, and a safe place to flip it. Follow me." 

He slipped out of the ballroom and led Perry down a long, narrow hallway to the entrance that would lead them backstage. All the while, Perry fumbled in his pockets for the coin. Finally, they reached the doors, and once inside, layer after layer of curtains.

When they stepped into a small, brightly lit area, Perry was holding the coin in his hand.

"Whatever happens," said Luke, "we need to remember that we have a purpose. We were called here."

"We had a purpose. We served it. What if that means it's all over now? We've been useful and now we're nothing. We should flip the coin," said Perry.

"Wait. Do you remember yesterday?"

"I do not," Perry said.

"That's because it's gone, slipped from your memory like so much sand in your palm. But we know that yesterday something _must_ have happened because today we've arranged for Draco to sit with Potter and be quite in love, and for Narcissa to be cross, and for Lucius to want our heads."

"He's taking off our heads?" Perry asked, alarmed. 

"Irrelevant _how_ he wants us dead. Perhaps our heads, perhaps a killing curse. My point is that yesterday happened, even though it's nearly forgotten, and when today is nearly forgotten, it still will have happened, too."

"I don't understand."

Luke sighed. "Let me put it like this: We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered,” he said. 

Just then, someone else pushed through the curtains, stepping onto their feet as he jockeyed for position in the small space. He was dressed in a tattered suit with a bowler's cap tipped over one eye. 

"Who are you?" the man asked gruffly. "This is where I stand."

"We're Derrick and Bole and we're here to flip a coin," said Luke. 

"That coin?" said the man, and he nodded at Perry's hand.

"One in the same," said Perry.

"Then go do it somewhere else," said the man. "I'm on in a minute." 

"We were here first," said Luke. 

"I'm telling you," said the man, and he reached for the coin. 

Perry struggled with him for a moment, then pushed him back and into the curtains. The coin clattered to the ground and began rolling away. They exchanged a worried look and were about to drop to their knees when the curtain swept away from them in a soaring arc, and bright lights suddenly blinded them.

"Luke? What's happening?" 

Luke squinted out, into the lights. In the front row he could see the thorny halo of Harry Potter's hair. Draco's head rested on his shoulder. 

"Are you prepared to answer for your crimes?" shouted a woman's voice. Luke knew it was the tragedian. 

"Our crimes?" 

"So you deny it, then! Very well! Gentlemen of the firing squad, ready!" She waited a few beats. In the background, a drumroll began. "Aim!" 

Derrick and Bole threw their arms around one another and screamed.

~*~*~

"I never even knew this was up here," said Harry, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind.

"Of course you didn't," Draco said, and he turned to kiss Harry's cheek, resting his hands over Harry's on his waist. "It's a balcony off a guest room on the second floor. You've only ever been in the dungeon, really."

"And the ballroom," said Harry, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to Draco's temple. "That was quite the production your parents put on."

"That was all Narcissa," Draco said. "My father is nothing but bluster and bad ideas. She hasn't let him plan anything in over a decade. Not since… well, you know." 

"Not since I was in your dungeon," Harry finished. 

Draco turned in Harry's arms, wrapping himself around Harry and leaning back against the railing. "This is a weird relationship, you and me. Not just because of my unbearable parents who tried to marry me off. Because of everything."

"Yeah," Harry said. "But really, any relationship I had was going to be weird, so I figured I'd go for the weirdest one possible." 

Draco smiled, and he leaned forward to rest his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry pressed his lips to the top of Draco's head. 

"There go your friends," he murmured into Draco's hair. "A big car just came to pick them up." 

"I called for it," Draco said, his voice a little sleepy. "I didn't trust them to wander around on their own, not after they found their way to the stage, assaulted an actor, and then fainted dead away like that. And I think Lucius was preparing to reopen the dungeons just for them when he found out they gave you my message."

Harry chuckled. "You took a chance, sending those two. I was shocked they figured out how to call for me at all."

"Honestly, if it were a competition between the two of them and Crabbe--Merlin rest his soul--and Goyle, I don't know who would come out on top."

"We're going to need to work on the quality of your friends," said Harry. 

"Derrick and Bole aren't friends. Not really. But they're Slytherins, and my mother knows their mothers well enough to call them here. She thought they'd be a good influence, that they'd tell me all about the virtue of marrying a pureblood Slytherin girl. She obviously didn't do her research." 

"Let's not talk about thick Slytherins anymore." 

"No? What else could we possibly find to talk about?"

"Dunno, but I'm sure we'll come up with something." Harry feathered his fingers through Draco's hair at the hairline. "We could talk about you. Me. Us. The scandal we're about to cause in the most dramatic way possible. It's up to you." 

Draco laughed, slipping his hands up beneath Harry's jacket and pressing away from the rail, toward the glass doors that led to the guest room. "All of it. I choose all of it, Harry. But not yet. First, we're going to _cause_ that scandal. Then we can talk about it."

Harry let Draco push him back into the house. "I couldn't agree more." 

{END}


End file.
